


Dawn of the Dithyramb

by kuwdora



Category: Greek Mythology
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other, PWP, Poetry, Porn Battle, beastality, come-capped mountains, greek chorus - Freeform, party animal, poetic hyperbole, sexual inspiration, taking license with some poetic structure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-15
Updated: 2009-06-15
Packaged: 2018-01-27 22:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuwdora/pseuds/kuwdora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What seems to be the problem?” Apollo asked.</p><p>Erato folded her arms and snorted, taking up position next to Terpischore. Thalia jerked a thumb towards Parnassus.</p><p>“Dionysus,” Erato said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn of the Dithyramb

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Porn Battle VIII](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/10575.html) prompts of Apollo/Dionysus, release, opposites.
> 
> If you'd like to cast Chris Pine as Apollo and Zach Quinto as Dionysus, well. I am not going to stop you.

CHORUS:  
Joyful shrieks of drunken debauchery  
Rolling down verdant Parnassian slopes,  
Through suppliant _olea_ branches, over  
Riverbeds, intrude upon slumbering  
Corycian nymphs and sisterly Muses, of them five and nine.  
The ground quakes with vibrancy, rhythmic  
Drumming and hallowed calls of hedonistic  
Pleasures echo from the basilica, erect  
Limestone columns extending unrepentantly  
towards Olympus, lined thick with dark vine.

CALLIOPE:  
Dearest sisters, once again we find  
Our sleep disturbed by senseless revelry.

POLYHYMNIA:  
A raucous fortnight passes and ceaseless  
inconsideration reigns. When will it end?

ERATO:  
Sisters, it will end when _we_ put a stop  
To it once and for all.

CALLIOPE:  
 _Thy_ plan failed to bring about our peace. We  
Cannot return to the bacchean threshold.

CLIO:  
I, for one, could stand to have a belly  
Full of laughter at the sight of Thalia  
Enamored by the satyr’s parlor tricks.

THALIA:  
‘Lo, I am far too weary to be flush from  
Flirtatious satirical pandering.

CALLIOPE:  
Too weary from him spending the entire  
Night between thy legs.

THALIA:  
O’ hush! Thy restraint and jealousy  
Does not flatter you, my dearest sister.  
It is time to put an end to this  
Disturbance and request Apollo  
To intervene on our behalf.

CLIO:  
Be quick, for the hour will soon require  
 _Mousagetes_ to attend to his phoebean  
Chariot and stampede across the sky,  
Filling thine lives with light and eternal warmth.

CHORUS:  
Muses nine and Corycian nymphs five  
Rise to their feet and pull silken tresses  
From their faces. Sweet Citharan chords rise  
Above primal beats of the lambskin drums.  
Lyres in hand, _paean_ melodies sung,  
Tinged with frustration and hope, seeking His  
Assistance with their sleepless nights.  
Heartfelt notes reverberate so strong, they  
Stroke the Apollonian bond to make  
The immortal _kouros_ come.

 

Apollo had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t the Aeolus, king of the winds, purposely carrying the laughter and drumbeats down the mountain. Now that he walked the earth, Apollo tucked his lyre into the folds of his open tunic only to have his bow and quiver reappear in hand. He slung them onto his back as he walked down the gentle curve of the hill, the faint glimmer of the sun barely cresting the horizon where his chariot and stallions were being taken care of by his attendants in the Morning Field. He heard the women long before he saw their small forms huddled together beside the Acheloo river. The fair skinned Erato waved to him from a distance while a silhouetted Urania in her navy dress hurried to close the space between them, the other muses and nymphs following in close pursuit. Erato embraced him in a tight hug while the others formed a large semi-circle.

“What seems to be the problem?” Apollo asked.

Erato folded her arms and snorted, taking up position next to Terpischore. Thalia jerked a thumb towards Parnassus.

“Dionysus,” Erato said.

“Dionysus,” Clio echoed.

“We haven’t been able to sleep through the night in _two weeks_ ,” Melpomene said cried. “I can’t take it anymore. _We_ can’t take it anymore. We won’t be held responsible for our actions if it continues,” she said, the somber threat in the tragic muse’s voice was unmistakable.

“We already tried talking to them. And I said shut. _up._ ,” Thalia said, throwing Calliope an angry look. Apollo folded his arms and Calliope gave Apollo a tired shrug.

“Could you _please_ break up his party?” Urania asked.

“I’m sure the priestesses and the Oracle would also be grateful,” his sweet Corycian nymphs crooned in union.

The fog of grogginess of the nymphs and muses hit Apollo in the core. He straightened resolutely, nothing but a proud and benevolent god. He reached for Polyhymnia’s hand and clasped it loosely. She pulled his wrist to her lips and kissed it.

He could only say yes.

“Of course I will,” Apollo said and the women crowded him for a brief hug, twittering happily.

They parted like the wings of a butterfly and as he strode past the two rows of women, he touched each of their forearms in turn and gave them a peaceful smile that would warm their hearts and allow them to finally find some respite. The nymphs and muses sank to their knees and swayed in the grasses. Their harmonious paean made his heart swell with happiness and determination before the sound tapered off when they pillowed their arms on each others thighs and fell asleep, now ignorant of the visceral thumping that came from Dionysus’ gathering.

It was a short hike with his speed and agility through the grove of olive trees and up the side of the mountain. He paused at the foot of the limestone stairs and looked up. The rhythmic drumming and constant parade of laughter ringing in his ears made him nostalgic for the tender caress of the odes of the muses and nymphs. Apollo swallowed, already tasting the scent of wine and blood mingled with raw and cooked meat in the air. Walking up the stairs, he waved a hand over his nose and inhaled again, properly blocking the aroma so he could concentrate on the task at hand.

When Apollo reached the threshold he stood there and looked around, his presence shedding a certain amount of light upon the plateau that was covered with lush rugs and animal skins, writhing bodies upon leafy bushes gathered for their aphrodisiac purposes and made into sprawling beds. At the fire pit, several maenads whose faces were smeared with blood tended to the slaughtered bull that ripe with death and desecration. Their giggles were so harsh, they shook and swayed while removing the burnt offerings from the flames.

Apollo scrunched his nose up and looked at the wine and fluid slicked floor. He’d made the journey barefoot, enjoying the feel of fresh dew between his toes but now he willed his sandals onto his feet before he took his first step.

“Apollo!” came a high pitched cackle.

He tightened his tunic around his waist and turned. A cloven-hooved satyr scrabbled towards him, holding out a flagon. “Nice to see you!” he said and hiccuped, barreling at him. “Didn’t know you were coming!”

Apollo stepped aside just in time for the satyr to slide across the floor.

“I’m not staying long,” Apollo said stiffly.

“Aww, why not?” the satyr asked and stumbled to his feet, hobbling close. Apollo inched out of the satyr’s way and stepped over another small satyr that humped a red-haired maenad who was gripped her own breasts in ecstasy.

“Can you tell me where Dionysus is?” Apollo asked.

“What?” the satyr asked. He poking his humping comrade in the butt and snickered, scampering to take his place in front of Apollo,

“Dionysus!” Apollo said, raising his voice to be heard over the hedonistic din. “I need to find him.”

“Ehhh,” the satyr murmured, looking around with uncertainty. He took a swig of the flagon and scratched his hairy little chest and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The satyr leered at him, his tail swishing and erection looming. “Maybe I can help you find him?”

Apollo frowned and looked around. “He’s here somewhere. I’ll find him,” he said and turned heel, walking into the interior.

“Suit yourself!” the satyr called after him.

Apollo weaved slowly between the torch-light colonnades, over wet animal skins and slippery limestone, passing through what must have been the feminine section of Dionysus’ party. Wild-haired maenads sat atop young peasant girls, hips undulating as they defiled them with leathery olisbos shoved between parted legs while others watched and cheered them on their inebriated stupor.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” a gruff voice barked at him.

Apollo stopped in his tracks, almost bumping into a satyr on the floor. He blinked at the sight and took a step back. The satyr was balancing a cup of wine on his erect penis, hands behind his shoulders and feet somehow planted on the slick floor. In the hazy torchlight, the eyes of women looked from the satyr’s act to Apollo, sleepy and sated.

“My apologies. Continue,” Apollo muttered and walked around the satyr’s stage area.

One woman sat up and flicked a coin towards the satyr but missed the cup and hit him in the face.

“No wish for you, my lady!” he said and guffawed. He skittered across the floor towards them, spilling nothing from the full cup. The women trilled, infatuated with his balance.

A hand grabbed onto Apollo’s ankle, forcing him to stop and politely tug himself free. He looked down and a sleepy maiden’s eyes were dancing at the sight of his immediate radiance. Her fingers tightened around his ankle and she pushed herself forward, looking under Apollo’s tunic. Apollo swallowed his surprise mingled with distaste and kicked her wandering hand away, uttering another apology. He bent down and stroked the side of her cheek, of which she tried to grab onto and kiss. He batted her hands away and stroked her other cheek.

“Sleep,” he whispered, leaning in close to her ear. “Sleep until your body has clensed itself of this miasma.”

Her sated smile faded into one of a deep slumber and Apollo stood upon hearing an echoing round of laughter that stung his ears as familiar.

He walked towards the familiar sound, past bodies and the rampant bawdiness. The broad hall ended, leaving Apollo to veer left, walk down a smaller hallway that led to another spacious room that overlooked the valley. The room was heavy with smoke from the firepit in the corner, though it would have been more of a problem if Apollo had mortal lungs. The room was nearly empty, only the corner near the fire had writhing bodies on top dozens animal pelts.

It nothing short of Dionysus’ idea of paradise and Apollo knew he was in the right place when the giggling turned into cries of Dionysus’ name.

“Dionysus,” Apollo said, his voice cutting through rhythmic drumming and grunting sounds. He strode to Dionysus and his consorts and exhaled loudly, blowing away the mind-altering smoke.

The shadowy bodies appeared to pause upon hearing his bellow. The pale curvature of a woman’s body came into focus once Apollo stopped on the corner of the bearskin. She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide, tangled brown hair draping past her shoulders. She lifted her elbow and a small satyr’s face appeared, his cheek resting against her side, looking at Apollo with nothing that looked like innocence. A dark skinned woman stopped tending the fire and turned to look, her weaved hair falling past heavy breasts that must have been full of milk.

“ _Dionysus_ ,” Apollo said again, his patience wearing thin.

There was an annoyed groan and the and woman yelped in surprise as she was pushed aside, the satyr half-tumbling with her, still wedged deep in her softness but he couldn’t fall too far because Dionysus was still inside the _him_. Dionysus sat up and grabbed the satyr by the tiny hips and easily lifted him and dropped him on the blankets next the woman. He rolled back onto his elbows and stared at Apollo, mouth moist and eyes aflame.

“Apollo,” he drawled.

“Dionysus, you need to stop.”

“Stop?” Dionysus asked. He stretched and yawned much like a feline and rubbed his hairy chest that was thick with sweat.

“Stop _this_ , all of it. Stop making noise or go somewhere else. The Underworld, perhaps. I’m sure Hades would love to have you. You’re keeping all of Greece awake with your foolishness.”

Dionysus belted out a crude laugh and sat up, stroking his erect penis with fervor. “Why, my dear boy, can’t you see that this is serious work and preparation?” he asked breathlessly.

“What are you talking about?” Apollo demanded. Dionysus tilted his head and reluctantly let go of his erection. He reached for a lepoard skin, hooked at the paws, and pulled it over his neck. When he stood up, he took another moment to detangle the curved nails from his beard and adjust it so it rested more comfortably on his shoulders. His hand returned to his penis, fumbling more slowly now as he approached Apollo.

“The newest and greatest Olympian sport: marathon coupling. The mortals are introducing it to the games at my request.”

Apollo couldn’t summon enough incredulity. “You jest.”

“About sex? Never,” he laughed.

“Dionysus…”

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. He walked to Apollo and draped an arm around his shoulder. “ _Maybe_ I joke about sex, but right now I’m not,” he said and reluctantly pulled other his hand from his penis to pushed some sweat-matted curls behind his ear. Apollo removed Dionysus’ arm, grabbing by the wrist and twisting it behind his back. He tripped Dionysus and pushed him to the floor, pressing his knee into his back.

“You’re going to stop or I’m going to make you stop,” Apollo commanded.

“Ah, ah, ah—Apollo,” Dionysus grimaced. “Is that your arrow or are you not happy to see me?”

“I’m not going to let you disturb the entire countryside with your antics,” he said.

“A little lower please,” Dionysus said, brushing the lepoard skin aside.

Apollo clocked him on the head with a fist and Dionysus gave an un-godlike yowl. He turned to look at Dionysus’ consorts. The saytr stopped thrusting long enough to gawk.

“Leave,” Apollo said.

The satyr whined unhappily and turned back to the woman and resumed thrusting, trying to finish. Apollo growled.

He marched over to the satyr, grabbed him by a blunt horn and tail and dragged him to the edge of room that overlooked the valley. Apollo spun around twice and launched him into the air, his arms and legs flailing wildly in the twilight. When the deviant hit the ground, he’d find nothing broken but his dignity, except that he had none.

Apollo eyed the two women.

“Go home.”

The women dressed themselves frantically and stumbled, arm-in-arm towards Dionysus to help him.

“I suggest you run. _Now_ ,” Apollo told them.

Their faces lit with shock when the sudden burst of light swallowed the room and zoomed down the hallway. At once there was dead silence; the gasps, grunts and primal drumming gone. After several moments, the ground began to rumble, the columns shake, the anger of a god upon them.

The women kissed Dionysus on the cheeks, ran their hands over his face and penis and ran away, holding each others hands.

“I’m sorry. You gave me no choice,” Apollo said, Dionysus glaring at him. He shoved the animal skin from his shoulders and stood, throwing on his robes. Apollo turned heel and walked to he edge to step off the plateau and head back to the stables.

Dionysus took him by the elbow and yanked him back from the edge.

“I have half a mind to suckerpunch you all the way back to Olympus for doing that,” Dionysus hissed into his ear. He suddenly shoved Apollo aside to avoid being crushed by the falling limestone. Apollo tripped and fell face forward and Dionysus fell heavily against back, only to tumble aside with a huff.

He glared. Dionysus reached over and grabbed his forearm, clenching tightly until the ground hummed beneath until the sound of falling rocks and hissing gasses faded away.

Apollo didn’t need to lift his head from soft ground beneath him to know where he was — his favorite place. Lesvos. The music and inspiration of the place coursed through his body, setting his nerve endings on fire, urging him to pull his lyre from his tunic and play. He waved a hand in front of his face, unblocking his sense of smell and inhaled deeply. To Apollo, the scent of pine and olive trees and the ocean was sweeter than anything else, even ambrosia.

  
He sat back on his haunches and looked around the forest. The predawn hour still blanked the land and yet Apollo couldn’t feel the usual immediacy to get back and cross the sky when the notes were flitting around his head in a perfect melodious dance.

Apollo got up and surveyed the immediate area, brushing a sizable twig from his sandy hair. The unmistakable scent of sex lured Apollo to where Dionysus was reclined against a tree, looking out at the bay. One handed rested on his knee while the other adjusted his robes.

“Why did you bring me to Lesvos?” Apollo asked.

“Because it’s nice,” he said simply.

Apollo looked out to the ocean and smiled despite himself. It was the place where he had bashfully given Orpheus his first lyre and taught him how to play. He could remember the boy’s dimpled smile as if it were yesterday. He’d sit with the Muses on the outcrop of rocks on the north side of the island and sing until the Nereids crested the silky water and listened to their performance.

He cleared his voice and looked at Dionysus.

“Please keep your orgies out of the backyard,” he said.

“Fine,” Dionysus said coolly.

Apollo nodded and headed for the ocean.

“Where are you going?” Dionysus called after him.

“To start the day,” Apollo said.

Dionysus got up and ducked beneath a low hanging branch and kicked off his sandals when he approached him.

“Let Phaëton have a turn at the wheel. He’s been training, hasn’t he?” Dionysus said.

Apollo scoffed. “Leave me be. You’ve caused me enough grief.”

Dionysus tugged the bow on Apollo’s back to keep him from taking another step.

“Apollo…”

“I am not one of your crazed worshipers,” he said and pulled away.

Dionysus darted in front of him and walked backwards.

“I know that,” he said.

“Nor are you my type,” Apollo said.

“I know that, too. You like to cruise for boys at their wrestling matches,” Dionysus said with a laugh.

Apollo ignored him and walked past and closed his eyes, filling his mind with the golden fields and he’d soon feel the familiar honeyed grass beneath his feet. Before he could disappear he felt a hand reach inside his tunic and take his lyre. Apollo’s eyes flew open and he spun around. Dionysus hop-skipped backwards, a ridiculous sight in his heavy robes on the beach, and held the lyre up with far too a precocious smile on his face.

“Apollo, come and make sweet music with me,” he pleaded.

Apollo clenched his jaw and held out his hand. “Give it back.”

“Please?” he asked and plucked an inexperienced note from the instrument and ran his finger up and down the string, eyes locked on Apollo.

A knot tightened in his stomach, whether it was out of anger or arousal, Apollo would only admit the former, but Dionysus had no right to have his hands on the lyre, _especially_ without permission.

He looked at the lyre and held it upside down. “I was hoping you could give me lessons.”

Apollo debated the merits of heading home and crafting a new lyre with the muses or fighting with Dionysus until he gave it up. Dionysus nodded at him and held out the lyre.

“Come on, I know the perfect place where you can teach me,” he said with a far more gentle smile than Apollo had seen in years.

“You know that reading a god’s mind is not permitted,” Apollo said sharply, trying to mask the panic from his mind’s intrusion.

Apollo took the lyre and Dionysus clasped onto his forearm again and they reappeared on a hillside overlooking the a village nestled in the bay. Dionysus patted his cheek and laid on the soft ground, hands threading behind his head.

He looked around, tightening a finger around the lyre and peered at Dionysus who raised his thick eyebrows at him.

Apollo knelt beside him and hummed quietly, fingers dancing over the strings and Dionysus rolled onto his side, head resting in his palm. When Apollo opened his eyes every dozen notes, he found Dionysus still staring at him.

“Pretty,” Dionysus said when Apollo finished.

“I was calling Phaëton to his duties,” Apollo said softly.

“Even prettier,” Dionysus said, nudging Apollo’s thigh with his foot.

Apollo breathed deeply and allowed Dionysus to press him to the ground and push his tunic above his waist. Apollo fumbled for the clip that held his cloth together and pulled it free, spreading it out over the grass and shimmied onto it. Dionysus disrobed, still sporting his massive erection and crawled onto onto him.

Dionysus buried his face in Apollo’s neck, the sensation of the biting kisses and full beard scraping against his skin, the grinding of their erections quickly overwhelming him. Apollo closed his eyes and let Dionysus cover him completely, hands twined in his, knees squeezing his slender waist. He was heavier, more hairy and much more crass than Apollo liked but his lips were just as soft and insistent as any others.

“I want to hear you sing,” Dionysus said and crawled down to take Apollo’s erection into his mouth. He gasped at the sudden heat and pressure surrounding him, surprised more by the way the coarse hair of Dionysus’ beard scraped at his inner thighs the deeper he took him in, his fingers kneading his scrotum and opening. Apollo keened loud enough to shake the trees free of the sleeping birds, his hands scrambling to find purchase in Dionysus’ hair, fingers twining between ivy and leaves.

Dionysus worked his bacchean mouth until Phaëton was nearly at mid-day in the sky. Apollo’s chest heaved, fingers digging into Dionysus’ shoulders, unable to understand how he, even as a god, could keep him on edge for so long. With any other partner, his divine stamina would have been spent, wrung dry a dozen times over. He pulled on Dionysus hair until he sat up, lips swollen.

“Dionysus,” he demanded, throat hoarse from his moans.

“Apollo,” Dionysus said, wiping a sticky hand down his chest, down to his own erection.

“I will not beg,” Apollo said, mustering what defiance he could and rose to his elbows.

Dionysus laughed and slowly pushed the sandy hair from his face, stroking his beardless cheek. His brown eyes were alight with passion, lips parting in a lustful grin.

“Dionysus—”

“Shhh,” Dionysus said and spread his legs, easily pushing his erection into him. Apollo arched like his bow as Dionysus pressed deeper, his soft hands sliding from his erection to his hips, cupping his kolos. Dionysus leaned over him and kissed his lips, hard and full, beard draping across his smooth chest.

“Sing, Apollo,” Dionysus said and began his frenzied rocking. Apollo gasped wantonly and writhed. He was so full, full of heat, of pressure, of inspiration that filled him whole.

 

 

Teased and tickled  
by salacious  
wine-tainted breath  
and coarse hair  
thicker than any mane,  
elicits stifled giggles  
unbecoming  
of a god.

Sobbing generously,  
on his back  
on the island  
of the _Tenth Muse_  
the fervent hand  
moves faster,  
harder,  
swifter  
than Hermes’ winged sandals.  
Bacchean thrusts  
rush  
with feline precision  
to overtake him.  
Bodies strain,  
limbs entangled  
hips bucking,  
antlers of two steeds  
locked together  
in battle.  
Howling in unison,  
Dionysian heat ripples  
through his aching body,  
coiled pressure,  
pleasure, foisted from deep.  
Apollo needn’t be  
of _Delphic_ persusian  
to know what was  
coming.

Pine trees lift their skirts  
and turn,  
maiden voyeurs,  
rocks open  
their slate-colored eyes  
wide, drinking in the spectacle of  
Apollonian  
ambrosia erupting—  
prompting _Vesuviuan_ vainity—  
his essence streaking ‘cross  
the sky,  
seeding all of  
 _Anatolia_ ,  
capping mountains,  
snow white and  
pristine.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Quick glossary:**  
>  * _olea_ \- olive  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corycian) _Corycian nymphs_ \- spring water nymphs near Mt. Parnassus  
> [*](http://homoecumenicus.com/Ioannidis-Ancient-Cithara.htm) _Cithara/kithara_ \- Greek lyre  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paean) _paean_ \- choral ode to Apollo  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kouros) _kouros_ \- male youth  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acheloos_River) _Acheloo river_ \- winding Greek river  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muse#The_Muse-poet) _Mousagetes -_ Muse-Leader  
> [*](http://www.mlahanas.de/Greeks/Mythology/Maenad.html) _Maenads (mee-nads)_ \- female cult followers of Dionysus, usually thought to be divinely posessed, mad  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dildo#Etymology) _olisbos_ \- Greek word for dildo.  
>  * _miasmia_ \- bad air  
>  * _Lesbvos_ \- transliteration for the Greek island of Lesbos.  
> [*](http://www.theoi.com/Pontios/Nereides.html) _Nereids_ \- sea goddesses.  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pha%C3%ABton) _Phaëton_ \- Apollo’s son.  
> [](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muse#The_.22tenth_Muse.22)*Tenth Muse - Sappho.  
> [*](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dithyramb) _Dithyramb_ \- ecstatic Greek hymm sung to Dionysus. Later transformed into lyric choruses in Greek tragedy. "1 : a usually short poem in an inspired wild irregular strain 2 : a statement or writing in an exalted or enthusiastic vein."


End file.
